


Chemicals

by FcrestNymph



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P England (Hetalia), 2P Hetalia, 2Ptalia, Amputation, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Cannibalism Play, Drug Use, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture, ghana (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 22:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12045819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FcrestNymph/pseuds/FcrestNymph
Summary: A reply for the prompt 'Chemicals' on the blog Ask-PastelKiller





	Chemicals

“You know, I’m really not as happy doing this as you’d think.” Oliver sighed, twirling a lock of pink hair around his finger as he fiddled with the length of fabric tying his apron around his back. He didn’t look at his guest, paying more attention to the metal cart of items in front of him. It had taken him quite some time to heave it down the concrete stairs to his basement, but it had, for three lovely months, been stored away in the basement’s one attached room. A multipurpose room, of sorts. It helped him with so many things. Storing his equipment, giving a small bedroom to the ‘friends’ of his that were quick to accept his rules and requirements.

For now, it was simply used as a storage room, and he had wheeled out his little tray cart into the middle of the basement’s main area.

He huffed as the tie around his back proved to be more than a one hand job, and he stopped playing with his hair, reaching behind him and fiddling with the knot. “Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have tied it so tightly last time. Do remind me to not try and slip it over my head next time, won’t you? I just have no wiggle room.” He let out a faint giggle, his cheeks turning a light pink. “Perhaps I ate a few too many sweets in the past few weeks…Is it starting to show?” He twirled in a circle, glancing inquisitively at his guest.

“Screw you.”

Oliver’s face scrunched up in displeasure, and he stuck his tongue out. “Now now, honey, there’s no use for such vulgar language.”

“Yeah? Well you can go fu–”

“ _Abigail!_ ”

The girl in question snarled, teeth bared in an animalistic expression that made Oliver raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were civilized than that. I should have known you’d be as daft as you always were. Shame on me, I suppose. Only a fool believes that a fool would change.” He clicked his tongue, shrugging lightly.

“I stand by my statement, go fuck yourself with a rusty golf club.”

Oliver tensed, a shiver of disgust running up his spine, ending with a small tremble in his shoulders. “Abigail, that is–I–That is  _disgusting_! Quarter in the swear jar, now!” His lip pulled back in a near snarl, a malevolent twinkle in his unnaturally blue eyes. “Ah, you didn’t bring quarters? I can make do.” His hand reached to pick up a small glass jar on the tray, one that he usually used to store teeth once extracted.

His guest’s eyes followed him like a cornered animal’s, darting with each of his movements. Oliver saw the gears turning, and did not explain. He set it closer to him, then picked up a roll of fishing line. He twirled a length off the roll, then snipped it with one of his many sharp edges. He tied each end to a short metal stick that had perhaps been a screwdriver in the past. He gripped each metal piece and pulled it, the fishing line going taut with a pleasant ‘tang’.

“Know what we’re doing yet?” Oliver purred.

Abigail glanced from the line to each of the metal sticks in the Englishman’s grasp. She stayed silent, but shifted anxiously in her chair.

“No? Alright.” He stepped forward, getting on his knees in front of her. She tensed against her bonds, staring at him without faltering. He moved to slide the fishing line under her left pinkie finger, then moved one end over the finger, wrapping the line around it. He pulled on the metal shafts, the line tightening snugly around her finger. He glanced up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips. “Figured it out yet?”

Abigail’s eyes were wide as saucers, mouth agape. “No, no–You–You’re kidding, you–”

Oliver didn’t wait for her to finish. He yanked his hands apart from each other, the fishing line pulling tight in one swift motion. The thin, strong string instantly sunk into her finger, slicing through the soft flesh without much protest. It only stopped tightening once it hit bone.

“ _AAAHHH!_ ”

Oliver waved a hand dismissively, still gripping the metal shafts. “Shh, no need to scream, it doesn’t even hurt. But, maybe it would if I did….This?” He pulled his hands towards his chest, the fishing line attempting to come with him. It did not stay where the finger was attached to the hand. No, it followed Oliver’s movements, but he had not loosened his wide pull. Still tight to the bone, it slid towards the end of her finger, tearing the skin off the bone as it came.

He blocked out the screams as he tugged, forcing it over the knuckle, then continuing his tugging. It fell off the tip of her finger, leaving only her fingernail behind. He hummed in contentment as he picked up the meat off the floor, where it has fell. He stood up and tossed it in the glass jar. He picked up a freshly sharpened wire cutter from the tray, and then knelt back down. Blood gushed from the mangled finger, white bone meeting oxygen for the first time. He leaned forward, opening his mouth. His tongue gently moved underneath the finger, mostly bone by now, and he accepted it into his mouth, up to the second knuckle. He groaned as the delicious taste of iron danced with his tastebuds, and his eyes fluttered closed momentarily. He could feel Abigail’s body start to spasm from the pain. He leaned back only after tugging off a sliver of muscle from the bone, blood dripping from his pink lips and down his chin.

“Mmm…For having such a foul mouth, you taste delicious~” He murmured.

Abigail only heard him because she had been inhaling a desperate breath. She stared at him in horrified disgust, and only moments afterwards, Oliver saw her throat move in a familiar motion. He got to his feet and stepped back just in time to avoid her vomit spewing from her mouth.

He made a face, but didn’t reprimand her. Once her stomach seemed to be empty, he stepped forward and reached down with the wire cutters, snapping the remaining bone with a satisfying crunch. He tossed the bone into the glass jar.

He winked at his guest, who was looking at him with huge eyes. “No quarters? I can take a finger, then.” He reached an arm up, wiping the blood dribbled on his chin away. “Anyways, I have something to try. That’s where you come in.” He leaned close, pressing a quick kiss to her sweaty forehead. If she had all her wits about her, she might have headbutted him, but not many people had a clear train of thought after what she had went through.

Oliver began to hum a cheerful tune as he spun around, poking around at the supplies on his metal tray. He spoke, not expecting much of a reply. “You’d think that being the literal representation of Britain would make it easy to get access to medical testing, but apparently not. So I do testing myself. It’s actually quite fun, I won’t lie.” He picked up a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe. He punctured the top of the vial and filled half of the syringe, then set the vial down. He filled the rest of the syringe with an odd milky substance in a tiny glass bottle from the craft section of the dollar store. After shifting it around the make the substances combine, he tapped the syringe and pushed out the small amount of air within it.

Oliver turned to face his guest, blinking innocently. “Now, we have two options. Tilt your head and let me see your neck, or I can do it the hard way. Which would you like?”

The Nation of Ghana was no stranger to pain, which made Oliver smile as she blinked and spoke, albeit shakily. “I…No, I don’t…No.”

That wasn’t really an answer, so Oliver simply assumed she would refuse to tilt her head. He shrugged, and in one smooth, quick motion, jabbed the needle downward, sinking it into the area near her shoulder. The metal needle clinked as it hit her collarbone, and Oliver didn’t quite try and stop it as the needle snapped. Perhaps it was an ‘accidental’ jerk of his wrist that made it snap, who knew? He had managed to inject the liquid before it snapped, so he really didn’t care.

Abigail’s body went rigid, pupils dilated, and her breathing stopped. It wasn’t due to the substance injected. No, it was simply her freezing up, waiting to see what on Earth the drugs did. Oliver waited patiently. Only seconds after being injected, Abigail began screaming, not even having time to open her lips before the sound tore from her throat. Oliver tapped his foot, tilting his head from one side to another as he hummed a tune. The pure capsaicin would begin to fry her nerves, he had expected that. As it surged through her bloodstream, her screaming became more intense, her arm beginning to seize and jerk violently as her body attempted to reject the chemicals. Her breathing was sporadic, her lungs being affected, but it wouldn’t kill her. It would just cause an extraordinary amount of agony.

Her eyes glazed over. Ah, perfect. Her gaze became unfocused on the room, but seemed to dart around and lock onto seemingly invisible things. Her face twisted in terror and her shrieks were much more shrill than before. Her body jerked against her bonds, her legs trying to scrabble backwards, get her away from whatever was terrifying her. Oliver watched with a raised eyebrow, only looking away to fish out fluffy earmuffs from his bloody apron. He slipped it over his head and focused on his guest.

Her muscles tensed every second or so, her abdomen flexing and trying with every ounce of its strength to bring her arms and legs from captivity. “ _NO! NO NO PLEASE DON’T–GET AWAY GET AWAY LEAVE ME A-ALONE GO GO GO S-S-S-S-S-TO-OP_!” Her shrieks echoed off the walls, making the metal tray of tools rattle slightly. Oliver moved to stand in front of her, hopping from one side to the other, dancing from her left to her right, waving his hand once or twice. Her eyes didn’t lock onto him. They looked past him, in front of him, everywhere but directly at him. She wasn’t seeing him. The chair rattled as she struggled, the ropes around her wrists and ankles digging into her skin. Only a few more seconds, and…

The ropes broke the skin. With that barrier out of the way, they sunk deeper with every seize, with every jerk, with every terrified tug. Abigail felt far too much to even register that pain.

Oliver began making faces at her, enjoying the horror flooding her face at a simple stuck out tongue. Tears poured from her eyes, falling down her cheeks like a salty waterfall. They dripped down, only to be replaced with fresh ones, a never ending cascade. He huffed as he got bored, and plopped his rump down on the cold floor. He sat criss cross, staring at her shaking body curiously.

“What do you see?” He murmured, mostly to himself. He had used this chemical mixture on a young person weeks ago, including a small amount of a truth serum he was perfecting. They confessed, in between gasps and screams, that they were being torn apart by human sized spiders, drowning as small ones crawled down their throat, in their nose, their ears. He had no idea what Abigail was seeing, was feeling, and he made a note to add the truth serum the next time he used this on a Nation. The amount of drugs in the person’s system had killed them within half an hour, cutting down Oliver’s fun considerably. But Abigail was holding out wonderfully, probably due to the fact that she wasn’t completely human. She could probably handle some more drugs. What was a bit of scopolamine on top of the capsaicin and psychedelics in her body? Not to mention his current favourite, midazolam.

Or, if she was out of commission after this, he could always use a different Nation. He had quite liked the few glimpses of that Latvian Nation he had seen. First Players were always more satisfying to use.

He sat there for quite a while, watching curiously as Abigail broke down. Once her seizing had stopped, and her movements had lessened to a violent tremble from the trauma, he moved to untie her. He would just drop her off on a street corner and he could forget about her. After all, that lovely midazolam would erase any memories of the pain of torture inflicted while under Oliver’s care. It was so much easier that way. He used a sharp blade to slice the ropes around her wrists, and he giggled as he pulled it away, a funny, wet sound coming from them as he pulled them from deep inside her flesh.

“Good job, Abigail. Thank you for your help~"


End file.
